


Steady

by t0talcha0s



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Study, Fights are described but no one gets seriously injured, Jealousy, Togashi didn't give us enough Zushi so I Will, Zushi is here!, heavens arena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: Zushi came to Heavens Arena when he was eleven years old, fresh faced and scrappy. He dreamt of steaming through the floors, up and up to the Battle Olympia within the year. If only it were that easy. If there was one thing he was learning to appreciate in Heavens Arena it was how to take things slow.
Relationships: Wing & Zushi (Hunter X Hunter)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverwherever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwherever/gifts).



> Zushi is here! 
> 
> Once again for my roommate who may not love Zushi with as feverish a love as I hold but supported me on the venture. Love you!

Heavens Arena has stood 251 stories tall for 173 years. It is an institution in Aise city, and a well respected landmark. Tourists flock to witness its fights and to visit the gift shop on the first floor. The most popular piece of merchandise is a replica of the hats worn by Heavens Arena employees. 427,983 fighters have passed through its halls and it possesses a body count of 19,012. 64% of upper-floor fighters leave with permanent injuries. 

Zushi entered heaven’s arena at the age of eleven, already six months into his nen training with Wing. His gi was clean and his hair was freshly shaved and as he looked up at the towering form of Heavens Arena he felt his lungs squeeze with a horrible anticipation. 

Zushi and Wing had met almost a year earlier, in a hospital room where Zushi’s brother, Izumi, lay heavy-breathed in recovery. Izumi was the third of Zushi’s six siblings and had attempted Heavens Arena when he was sixteen and reached the 200th floor after eight months. There he had been attacked and landed in the hospital where his left leg and arm could not be saved during reconstructive surgery. The doctors had no idea what had caused it. Wing was brought in to explain:

“Nen” he said to the family “an attack by which the user’s life force is manipulated by will to strengthen their power. In Izumi’s case the attacker forcibly awakened his aura nodes through a focused aura attack which caused irreparable damage to the body” Wing was almost crying, Zushi noticed that his lower lashes were damp. “Nen should be learned in a controlled environment that allows the user to come to terms with nen on their own time, an awakening through a nen attack is risky and often life threatening. You ought to be happy your boy is alive.”

Zushi cornered Wing outside of his brother’s hospital room.

“Will you teach me?” he asked “how to do it right? How to take on Heavens Arena properly.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Zushi”

“Zushi, would your parents be okay with you asking me that?” 

“Does it matter, Sir?” Wing smiled, it wasn’t a happy one but it was sweet and unfair and settled into Zushi’s chest. It stung where it sat, underneath his upper ribs. “I’ve been training in martial arts for years, since I was four. My Sensei says I’m very talented.” he explained, felt the need to prove himself.

“I suppose I can, we can start next monday.” Zushi, as his kung fu sensei had taught him, brought his arms in an ‘X’ in front of him and chanted 

“Osu!” Wing smiled.

They started the next monday, Zushi spent weeks and weeks, months and months meditating with himself and his will, thinking about his place in it all. His aura nodes woke within the first three months. The power flowing out and around him, focused up into a smooth candle flame surrounding his person. 

“Zushi” Wing questioned one day “why do you want to do this?” 

“What do you mean sir?” 

“Heavens Arena, Nen” he stopped himself 

“Well,” Zushi remembered the first time he entered a dojo, years and years ago, when he came in discontent and young and unfamiliar. Now he found comfort with the art, meditating with his life force. He was cross legged on the floor, eyes closed and fist pressed into his left palm right above his heart. He opened his eyes, smiled contentedly at Wing. “I have five siblings. I'm the youngest. My parents are busy with work, I’ve been training my whole life. Isn’t this just the next step?” 

“I guess it is,” Wing looked at him, studied the form of the young boy in front of him, and nodded. “I guess.” 

Zushi had his first fight six months into his training. He climbed onto the raised square as the commentator announced his stats _Zushi, Eleven, Four Foot One, Eighty-Three Pounds, Record Zero-Zero._ Zushi squared off against his opponent, a massive man with a strange tri-fold hat and set his feet as his Sensei had taught him: strong, each breath rooting him to the earth, energy flowing from the crown of his head to the heels of his feet. He smiled happily and the man punched him hard in the side. Zushi crumpled against the edge of the mat, rising to his feet with a shaky smile. This is what he had waited for. The pain: sharp and grounding, as he exhaled he could feel each abdominal organ clench cruelly, unhappy at even the intrusion of air. The rush: crowd cheering behind him, or not him, but cheering, and the very obvious enemy against him, he was the hero. Zushi felt like all eyes were on him, despite the fact that there were several other mats placed in the arena, it was him alone and important. Zushi crossed his arms and uncrossed them, let out a cry of 

“Osu!” and unleashed a flurry of punches on his opponent, directly into his gut, the sensitive organs that sat beneath his floating ribs. It was ruled a technical knockout and though Zushi had plenty of bruising on his side he sat proud and happy while the medic assessed him after the fight. He was ruled safe to fight again, and moved up to the 50th floor. 

Zushi met Killua and Gon after they were approved for their first real fight, in the elevator. Zushi had seen them fight, Zushi was scared by how they fought. Their minimal style, how easily they defeated their opponents, how normal and jovial they were now, as if they hadn’t just taken down grown men with a single hit. As they entered Gon laughed, it was loud and unrestrained and sat in the air in a way that made the room seem warmer. It was weird how those two seemed to walk the halls of Heavens Arena with a sort of ease. They were older then Zushi sure, but Zushi had been training for this, had been a martial artist as long as he could support himself on his two legs, these two seemed as though they strolled into the building just for fun. It made Zushi’s lungs hurt. The three of them stood in the elevator and as it sent them upwards to the next qualification trials Zushi smiled at them. 

“I’m Zushi” He said, “you guys are impressive.” Gon responded with a face-splitting smile of his own, wide as if each tooth wanted to say hello. 

“You’re pretty good too! Killua’s been here before so he has an advantage though. Oh I’m Gon,” he jutted a thumb to the other boy “and that’s Killua.” Killua gave a little wave. 

“You’ve been here before?” 

“When I was six.” 

“Woah, what school do you guys belong to? I’m a Shingen-Ryu Kung Fu student!” The boys smiled, though Gon’s was more sheepish then Killua’s small smirk.

“We’re independent.” and, for the second but certainly not the last time looking at Gon and Killua, Zushi was amazed. 

The three of them sat in the locker room and waited for their fights. 

“I’m a Hunter!” Gon said, sipping from his newly purchased orange juice. “Killua and I met at the Hunter Exam, it was the best, when we first met he did the coolest skateboard trick! Do you still have your board Killua, will you show him?” 

“I didn’t bring it dummy.” Killua was trying his hardest to sound annoyed. 

“Wow you’re both Hunters?” Zushi had heard of Hunters, his Sensei back at home’s brother was a Hunter and he used to tell the class all kinds of crazy stories of his adventures. Or he maybe made them up, Zushi’s father would laugh when Zushi would retell the stories to him and say affectionately _I think he might be pulling your leg, kid._ Killua spoke up before Gon this time saying, with a hint of defense in his voice 

“I could have become a Hunter, the exam just got boring after a while.” Gon gave Killua a sly and knowing look, mischievousness playing at the corners of his mouth, but he stayed quiet. 

“That’s awesome. I’m trying to get all the way to the 200th floor, maybe even become a floor master.” He thought about Izumi, his family and his Sensei back home, Wing, how he wanted to be impressive to all of them, to prove that he may just be eleven but that he is strong and disciplined and has control over his nen. He’s a fighter, always has been, and he’ll be the best one day, or great at the least. The boys don’t question his goal, Gon just gives him an approving smile and Killua an appraising cock of the head. Instead of prying, Gon launches into more stories about the Hunter Exam, about going to Killua’s home, about his two other friends and how they’re meeting in Yorknew in the fall, about how he’s going to take Killua back to his home 

“Whale Island,” he said, “there’s all kinds of crazy stuff there. Like the foxbear I raised,” Gon continues informing him about all of the cool things on Whale Island like Kon and his Aunt Mito and sailors and sea caves. Zushi listens and listens until their matches are called.

“Should be a piece of cake,” Killua says, crossing his legs and settling with his palms behind him “the people at these levels aren’t so tough.” _Don’t be so cocky_ Zushi thought, even if they’d all flown right to the 50th floor, he’d been training for months after all, Heavens Arena was supposed to be a challenge. 

The announcer called Killua’s name and he got to his feet, cracking his knuckles. Then the announcer called Zushi’s name and a tight dread wrapped itself around Zushi’s lungs and tugged. 

“Oh,” he said “I’ll be honored to fight you Kilua” 

“Thanks, sorry I have to take you down.” In the ring as Zushi settled into his fighting stance, focused with a close guard. His Sensei had always praised his form _You’re an exemplary Kung Fu student, Zushi_ he’d said and Zushi still remembered the way it made him feel, strong, warm, and proud. He let out a cry of 

“Osu!” and Killua paused for a minute, looking over Zushi’s lowered form. He gave a strange frown and began confidently walking towards him. His posture was relaxed, his hands in his pockets. And suddenly he was standing in front of Zushi, looking down at him. It made Zushi’s blood run hot, made his breath pick up, made him crave to see Killua flat on his back, looking up at him with awe, he never wanted to lose but something about the casualty of the other boy made him want to _win._ He punched at Killua, hard, but he was no longer in the space in front of him, instead behind him and Zushi felt a nasty blow to the back of the neck and he fell. 

“Clean hit” the referee called and Zushi felt the hit down to his bones, echoing through his vertebrae, up and down his spine. It stung. His hands flexed griplessly at the mat before he crawled onto his hands and knees and shifted up onto his feet. 

“Geez” he settles back into his stance, following the flow of power through his muscles, up into his arm and shoulder, and moved to strike at Killua again. And again a hit to the throat, this one sent him back across the mat, off it, skittering his knees on the ground. He felt a nasty bruise bloom beneath his gi. The indignity of it ran through him and as he got up he shifted his stance, not to anything his sensei taught him, but one from his master, he set his jaw and released his ren. 

Killua’s eyes widened, one of the more genuine expressions Zushi had witnessed from him in their short time, and he moved to his back foot, jumping away. It felt good, really good, to see the worry and horror in his eyes, really really good. 

From the stands he heard an inhumanly loud shout, his name billowed from where Wing sat to witness his fight. Wing, who had stood to shout, gently lowered into his seat where all his seat neighbors had evacuated their spots. Zushi’s control wavered, and he let up, and then Killua shook his head and was on him. It wasn’t his usual chop though but a punch to the gut. Zushi kneeled over, limbs smacking into the floor harshly. He let out a shuddering cry and brought a hand to his ribs. Killua was strong and it showed and it hurt. The pain kept Zushi alert, wide eyed and gasping against the floor, and the Ref called a TKO and the match was over. Zushi got up, made his way out of the ring and into the dressing room, and stood outside in the hallway to wait for Wing. 

Wing was disappointed. Not in his loss but in his use of ren, though it felt to Zushi like something larger than that. Zushi sank to the floor, kneeling apologetically, and clenched his eyes closed. 

“I’m sorry master, I know I wasn’t supposed to use it, he was just so strong and I-” he stopped, didn’t know what he wanted, or he did, but admitting it felt cruel. His arms shook where they touched the floor and his lower lashes felt damp. “I just wanted to, I” Wing stopped him, crouching next to his crumpled form. 

“I know,” he said, ever patient “It’s okay to want to win. But you mustn't lose sight of what matters. Impatience will only erode your potential, you understand?” Zushi lifted his chest off the ground. Wing’s eyes were kind as they looked at him, but they had a hesitance to them, like he saw something sharp in Zushi that he needed to file down. 

“Osu” he replied, bringing his uncrossed arms to rub away the tickling tears that pricked at his eyelids. 

“You must get used to losing because you will… many times.” That one hurt.

“Osu” 

“It’s not a bad thing to lose, as long as you learn and you train steadily and,” Wing looked at Zushi: exhausted, drained, emotional Zushi sitting penitently on the cool tile floor. He sighed, “Let's get you home.” Wing rose to full height and held a hand out to Zushi, who took it. He bought him a juice, strawberry, and led him through the tangled streets of Aise. He didn’t tuck him into bed, not like Zushi’s father used to, gently pushing the blanket beneath each of his children’s feet, giving them a kiss on the forehead, from one shared room to the other until all six were comfortable and assured of his love. Zushi almost wished he was here, but would never return home without completing his goal. His father had always supported his martial arts endeavours and Zushi refused to disappoint. Wing may not have kissed his forehead but he brushed his teeth alongside him and gave him a gentle pat on the back and turned his light off and said 

“Goodnight Zushi.” 

“Goodnight Master.” 

For three days Zushi watched Gon and Killua defeat enemy after enemy with a single strike, a pile of bodies growing ever larger beneath them. They felt untouchable, high above him with spotlights that blotted out their faces, ill defined and unreal in their skill. Zushi was a little bitter about it. He hated losing and he hated playing catchup and these boys were a sore spot on his ego. Wing scolded him for his attitude, nicely, but still. 

All of this is why, when Killua and Gon approached him in the halls of Heavens Arena, Gon with his lightning-bright smile and Killua with his air of cool indifference, asking about nen, Zushi almost didn’t want to tell them. He did though, and it felt good to hold something over these two, and he was the youngest of six, he was well used to sharing. 

Zushi knew he shouldn’t be surprised when Killua and Gon took to nen like birds to flight, rushing through the basic principles. The six months it had taken Zushi, which Wing assured was frightfully quick, flashed across the boys in a matter of hours. Zushi, who had held this advantage, cupped in his hands the knowledge of nen, felt it slip down his fingers soaking into the carpet as soon Gon and Killua’s aura was smooth and regular like a candle flame. He saw no flickering desperation, the jagged shapes his nen had taken months ago as he tried so hard to balance his ten. It was just a cool, smooth flow, uninterrupted, steady. Zushi had to step into the bathroom, feeling the frustration of inadequacy that made his stomach ring empty. He followed his breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth until the tension wrapped around his lungs had dissipated. Then he stepped out into the living room and Gon shot him a smile under where his eyebrows creased in concentration, and Zushi’s heart lifted and he could not be upset with him. 

After the boys left for the night, going to walk through the malicious aura that greeted them on the 200th floor, Zushi remembered his match scheduled in the following week: floor number 138. It hurt to be so far behind, to be the tortoise in a race that he was bound to lose. Wing watched him wash his dishes from their dinner and sighed a huff out through the nose.

“You’re doing this the right way Zushi. Nen is a skill that is best learned patiently, those boys are pushing themselves to extremes that are potentially unhealthy. They’re,” he paused, Zushi set his plate on the dishrack and the clink it made resounded in his ears. “You’re a one in a million talent Zushi. It took me eight months to master ten when I was learning. You can’t let those boys discourage you. They’re,” he let out a little laugh.' “They're something else.” Zushi nodded, discouraged further by Wing’s comments. It wasn’t better that Gon and Killua were just innately more talented than him, it wasn’t better that he had to learn nen at a snail’s pace, it wasn’t better that he couldn’t hate them even through his bitterness, it wasn’t better that the feats it took the boys to accomplish took him four times as long. He went to bed with unease biting under his eyelids.

The next day, Zushi left Wing’s house and confronted the dramatic cut of Heavens Arena against the daybreak sky. It twisted and curved and Zushi felt like he did months ago, a dread that burned the lining of his lungs. It made him straighten his spine, grounding himself parallel to the building. The winking lights of the rooms of the fighters shone gold against the pristine white facade and Zushi knew one of those was his and soon the suite in the coliseum that crowned the building would be his as well. He knew this, felt it in his core and the arches of his feet. Zushi may be young and Zushi may be small and Zushi may walk a slower path but Zushi is determined and Zushi is strong and Zushi was meant for this.

**Author's Note:**

> Zushi! Zushi! Zushi! 
> 
> Anyway I love this kid. If you love him too, leave me a comment! If you wanna catch me and my manga screenshots and my drunk ramblings catch me @poetforprofit on twitter.


End file.
